


(dis)illusion

by Darkfromday



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Gen, Invisibility Cloak Shenanigans, One Shot, Ravenclaw Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27342763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkfromday/pseuds/Darkfromday
Summary: December 1991: A Harry who found his home under Rowena's banner instead hatches a plot to find out just who gifted him with an Invisibility Cloak for Christmas.(It's not the best plan, but fortunately his gifter is quite indulgent.)
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	(dis)illusion

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Erised](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/722569) by losthpfanficwriter. 



> I... have never written Ravenclaw!Harry before. This is a bad idea.

At fifteen minutes past midnight, the silent corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were disturbed by a gust of wind from the front doors left slightly ajar. Suits of armor all the way down the main hall rattled ominously, so that all one could hear for several minutes was the twitching and whining of metal knights.

In the midst of all that racket, it was near-impossible to hear a hard _thud_ and the swift, high-pitched swear word that followed. But strangely enough, it did not seem to come from anywhere at all.

The wind eventually died down and the castle sealed itself back up, but the angry words continued in a lower tone for another minute, until their wielder got enough control of himself to remember where he was and pipe down. After all—his plan would only work if _he_ was quiet too.

Eventually it was completely silent again. There was not a thing out of place but for a faint, telltale shimmer of silver near the walls.

_Anyone wrong coming?_

'Wrong' meant Filch or Mrs. Norris most of all, of course, but also stretched to any of the prefects who might be on duty tonight. Though it was the winter holidays, at least four to six prefects typically volunteered to stay at the castle for a few days to keep total anarchy from breaking out among the remaining students. He did _not_ want to be caught before he'd accomplished his goal, and they were the most likely threats. One slip-up and he'd be in detention throughout the new term—or longer.

Luckily the whole lot had very obvious tells.

Filch muttered to himself while he walked, usually about how much he'd enjoy stringing up the students he caught out of bed. Anyone could hear him coming long before he might catch them.

Filch's partner in crime, the cat Mrs. Norris, was by contrast nearly silent. The only sign of her was the faintest _pitter-patter_ of her tiny paws down the corridors. He had taken care of her by sending a charm her way one warm night when she was looking the other way: it didn't hurt her, but now whenever she walked there was a low sound like jingling bells that only he could hear. It made it child's play to get out of her way.

And the prefects... well.

Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect, was steadfastly dedicated to his duty but very easy to predict: he checked the corridors thoroughly as he traveled them, but only once, and only in the direction he was going. Stay behind him, and one was in the clear.

The Slytherin prefect Gemma Farley tended to wave her wand as she patrolled, sending bright little waves of wordless magic over tight spots and shadowed areas. She was clearly using some type of advanced magic to check for students, which made her the most dangerous; but for whatever reason, his new gift was quite immune to whatever spell she cast. He had only figured that out after getting into a bit of a tight spot with her the night before: he'd stayed still and absolutely silent in the hallway, only to goggle as she frowned and carried on like he wasn't even there. Even so—he knew better than to underestimate any opponent, especially a fifth-year.

The Hufflepuff prefect Cedric Diggory was a lot more easygoing than Weasley or Farley, less likely to hand out detention on a first offense; but it was clear he took his responsibility seriously too. He was the type to hum as he worked, and stay in popular spots for minutes at a time as though waiting for any student thick enough to wander by and be caught. It took two weeks to memorize his nightly pattern: the Great Hall first, then the trophy room, the library, the kitchens, the entrance to the dungeons, the Astronomy Tower, the Prefect's Bath, then the Astronomy Tower _again_ , and finally a brief stop at the great front doors before he conceded defeat and switched off with his female counterpart. As long as one didn't end up where he was perched, all was well—and Diggory wasn't due near the front doors for another hour at least.

That only left the Ravenclaw prefect who was on duty tonight: Weasley's girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater. And although Farley might be the most dangerous of the fifth-year prefects out on this winter evening, Harry Potter knew he wanted to be caught _least_ by the kind-but-stern member of his own House.

See, Clearwater was _clever_. She alone of these four never had the same patrol strategy twice: she wasn't afraid to backtrack at the slightest sound, consult with patrolling Professors or recruit the castle ghosts to inspect the corridors for any signs of life. She knew every broom closet older students might use for a snog; she knew every library book that had been checked out and what ought to still be present on the shelves in the morning; and rumor had it she even had a shaky alliance with Peeves the Poltergeist. It was why she had the highest record for catching students among any of the fifth-year prefects first given the role since the seventies. Or maybe the sixties? Harry didn't remember for sure.

But it didn't matter, since he _did_ have a way to outwit her.

He put his thoughts on pause for a bit, listening down the hall. If everything worked in his favor, he should be receiving a signal on where Clearwater was right... _about_...

A whistle pierced the air, followed by a yelp and muffled shouting. It came from several floors up, near the Prefect's Bath.

Harry grinned.

_Found you._

_He_ had recruited Peeves too. Around Halloween the pesky Poltergeist had startled Harry by mistaking him for his father James, who was apparently a devious little miscreant in his own Hogwarts days. In order to keep from being pranked until the end of time for not living up to James' legacy, Harry had made a deal with him: he'd help Peeves with one harmless prank during the day, every week for the rest of the year, and in exchange Peeves would distract and deter the people most likely to put a stop to Harry's adventures at night.

This year, that meant finding and irritating Penelope Clearwater at random intervals during the night so Harry would know exactly where she was. And as one of the more law-abiding members of Ravenclaw, she would never suspect that one of her own House had used her "ally's" strange code of conduct against her.

So. Clearwater was detained. Diggory was shivering at the top of the castle. Weasley was probably flying frantically to his girlfriend's rescue. And Farley had already cleared the first-floor hallways half an hour before midnight.

Harry was free. There was nothing stopping him now.

He almost stepped out into the corridors to do a twirl under his gift—but no, no. Overconfidence had sunk him a time or two before. It did no good celebrating before his real mission was accomplished.

Sighing, he pulled his father's Invisibility Cloak tighter around his shoulders, scooted away from the bruise-inducing suits of armor, and settled in to wait until the person he was waiting for sprung his trap.

Harry's plan was simple.

His goal was to catch the person who had gifted him with his father's cloak red-handed. Pleased as he was to have something which had belonged to his family, Harry's curiosity had overpowered his sentiment when he got to the end of the attached note and found _no_ signature. Who in the world would give an eleven-year-old boy such an important present for Christmas, but then shirk the credit?

He chatted with Padma Patil and Terry Boot after Christmas dinner with the staff and the other remaining students, and both agreed: the only reason to leave someone an unsigned note with a harmless present in it was if the gifter didn't want to attract attention to his gift—or his identity.

"Or _her_ identity," Padma added. "It could just as easily be a woman, Harry. Didn't you say it was Professor McGonagall who agreed to pay for your broom so long as Flitwick agreed you could only join the Quidditch team next year?"

With how euphoric and talented he'd felt while in the air during his first flying lesson, it was not like Harry could forget the agonizing wait he'd also agreed to afterward.

But Terry pointed out, "Only the two of us, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger know about that. So it's not like McGonagall couldn't have just sworn Harry to secrecy if she had his father's cloak this whole time ready to give back."

"Then maybe it was Professor Flitwick?"

"Clearly it was Snape," Harry interrupted dryly—his goal was to get them off track, and their quick laughter meant it had worked and they wouldn't be stuck theorizing instead of enjoying Christmas evening. "It doesn't matter now. I'll figure it out before term starts again. Want to go throw snowballs at the Slytherins?"

He appreciated his Ravenclaw and Gryffindor friends—appreciated _having_ friends, especially after his first ten lonely years—but there were still some things he preferred to do on his own. Finding his mystery benefactor was top of the list.

It was why he was here now at the bottom of the castle, shivering and checking the faint green lines he'd drawn on the ground with his wand. Harry was certain that his gifter lived in the castle because when he'd cast _Aparecium_ on the parchment to ascertain its origin _,_ a faint Hogwarts crest had appeared at the very bottom, like the official notices he'd gotten when he was first accepted to study here. Apparently it had been wiped away, along with any other telltale clues, before the person had written Harry their note.

That narrowed it down to the staff. But there were so many professors that Harry had had no idea which to scrutinize first! Filch, Snape, Hagrid and Professor Sinistra were the only ones he had ruled out at dinner. Filch was more interested in confiscating things, not giving them back; Snape treated him with slightly less disdain than he did the average flobberworm; Hagrid was too bad at keeping secrets not to spill one like this right away; and Sinistra barely knew him outside of nighttime Astronomy classes.

Plus, _none of them_ had handwriting as beautiful as the flowing loops from that note.

There were some professors Harry had never even met, too, but he didn't worry overmuch about them. He had a feeling this was a mystery he _could_ solve with the knowledge he had now.

And Harry knew a fair bit. He knew that the timing of this gift wasn't a coincidence: long after he'd left the Dursleys so they couldn't get a hand on it, but deep into the school year, with the least number of students in the castle to gawk and gossip over Harry Potter's new present, or who might have given it to him. He knew that whoever had borrowed James' Invisibility Cloak probably had no trouble with turning invisible themselves—a bit of research in the library told him that there were many invisibility cloaks out there, made of many different kinds of material, so having this _exact_ cloak wasn't necessary if one didn't wish to be seen. That meant that his benefactor had either finished investigating whatever made Harry's Cloak fascinating to them, _or_ they wanted to see what he, Harry, would do with the Cloak once he got it back.

Considering that the last words on the page had practically _twinkled_ at him ( _use it well_ ), Harry was bargaining hard on the latter.

So for the past two nights he had sat in different parts of the castle, drawing spells that would see the invisible and waiting for the person whose handwriting matched the distinctive loops on his note. His 'drawings' were actually junior-level charms and runes that would flash green when an invisible person passed through them—but more importantly, when a person passed through them that was looking for _him_. ("Baby _Revelio_ ," Terry had called it, before gracefully accepting the punch on his arm from Harry. Padma only avoided the same fate because she was a _girl_.) Any number of adults might wish to roam the halls unseen like Harry, but only one would be looking for the person who'd most recently joined their invisible ranks.

Two nights in a row he'd nearly frozen to death and achieved nothing. (The castle was awfully _cold_ when students weren't bustling about.) He was about to pack up and head back to Ravenclaw Tower in disgrace for a third time when he heard a new sound: a smart, soft click of boots.

_Someone's here!_

This time, he had no time to wonder if one of the prefects or professors had made a change in their nightly patrol routine: with a shiver of magic and a sound like an audible sigh, his "baby _Revelio_ " rune lines lit up and traced the new presence in the hallway—someone that, according to how long it took to get from their boots to their head, was very very tall.

 _They also have an awful lot of hair_ , Harry thought—and then he went pale as flour under the Cloak. _Oh. Oh no._

The figure waved a hand, and the lines on the floor began to wipe themselves clean. Then they snapped their fingers, and invisibility slipped off of them as smoothly as Harry had ever shucked off his own Cloak.

Albus Dumbledore looked directly at the tight corner Harry had concealed himself in—looked right into Harry's invisible eyes—and his own bright blue eyes crinkled in a smile.

"And what have we here?" he asked, pleasantly as anything.

_Bloody hell_ , Harry thought woozily. _I've just snagged the headmaster_.

He couldn't move for a solid minute, even though he knew he'd been made. Although he _had_ been going through all the Hogwarts staff he knew of in his mind, discarding some as gift-giving suspects along the way, he had never once seriously let his thoughts linger on the man in charge. It just didn't seem _likely_. The headmaster was the headmaster—powerful, clever, a little barmy, but overall _busy_. Not someone with a whole lot of time to hand out Christmas gifts to students.

_Was it really him, after all?_

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Kneazle got your tongue, Harry?" he murmured, lightly flicking his wand. The Invisibility Cloak around Harry's shoulders was tugged forward, bringing Harry with it, out of the shadows and into the moonlit hallway. The light pressure subsided the instant he was stood across from the old man.

"Er..." The nagging query of _how would I get a Kneazle?_ was uppermost in his thoughts, but Harry managed to shove that down and stammer out a reply he hoped was halfway proper. "Not exactly, sir. I don't think I'd still have my tongue attached to the rest of me if so."

He earned a chuckle from that which warmed his insides.

"How... how did you know it was me, sir?"

"Other than you very politely responding to your name when addressed?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Harry blushed scarlet, as if he could see the moment it happened. "As you can see, I don't need a cloak to become invisible. Nor do I need one to see others who might be wandering the halls in cloaks of their own."

 _So he_ can _see me perfectly under here!_

"I imagine you have questions for me."

Bowing to courtesy as well as awkwardness, Harry finally removed his father's Cloak and nodded quickly. "Just a few, sir."

"And I have some for you. I propose a trade—answers from me for answers from you. What say you?"

Well. Harry was no Hufflepuff, but that sounded quite fair to him.

Dumbledore gave his wand another easy wave and two plush velvet chairs materialized right beside them: one scarlet with gold arms, the other blue with bronze. Harry slipped easily and eagerly into the one modeled after his House, and waited as patiently as possible for the headmaster to make himself comfortable in the other. His brain was bursting with questions, all crowding so firmly against the edges of his mind that he hardly knew what to ask first.

"After you," Dumbledore said kindly.

Harry fidgeted with the Cloak, now laid neatly in his invisible lap. He knew what he ought to ask first—it was the whole reason he was out wandering the halls in the first place—but—

"How did you get rid of my baby _Revelio_ charm?"

He just _had_ to know how the headmaster had dismantled his work so effortlessly!

"Your baby—" Dumbledore abruptly stopped speaking, ducking his face into one hand. From the way his shoulders quivered, Harry deduced that he was holding in a snort of laughter, and his blush deepened. But fortunately the old man put himself back together and lowered his hand quickly enough. "My apologies, Harry. I did not expect such a charming nickname for your rather advanced spellwork."

"Advanced—?"

"Yes, not many first-years could string together a juvenile version of the _Homenum Revelio_ charm and a rune pattern meant to reveal pursuers. It's very impressive work. A shame that we are between terms, or I would happily award points to Ravenclaw for your cleverness."

Harry's mortification immediately shifted to a quiet but enduring sense of pride, even as his mind kept racing. _So the full name of the spell to find people is called 'Homenum' Revelio..._

"And to answer your question: I dispelled your work with a simple _Finite Incantatem,_ as I have done each time I found it throughout the castle."

 _Oops._ He _knew_ he'd forgotten to clear up his spells once or twice, even though he never found signs of them the next day. And Padma had the nerve to call him paranoid!

"My turn now, I think," Dumbledore said cheerfully. His tangerine dressing gown gleamed as he put a hand to his silver beard and smoothed it down. "And I will dovetail my question with yours as best I can. I know now that you have been setting up spells to try and find invisible pursuers. What I do _not_ know is why."

"Er..." This was hard to answer without asking the question he should have asked in the first place. But he sensed that the moment he lied or even sidestepped the truth that their little truce would be over—and he might be punished for wandering the halls after curfew and using magic well above his level. "I received this Invisibility Cloak for Christmas, sir, but without any clue as to who sent it. I set up the spells because I... I thought the person who wanted me to be invisible might want to see what I'd do once I had the Cloak. By following me. Invisibly."

Well, now that it was said out loud it sounded kind of stupid.

"So you believed that the one who gifted you such a fine present expected to catch you at some form of mischief? Rather than, say, trusting you to use it responsibly? That is quite the hypothesis."

"Yes—" Harry began, before a suspicious frown crossed his face. The headmaster's words were very precise and seemed filled with double meanings, but something in Harry's brain had pinged when he'd said _use it responsibly_. It sounded like _use it well_. It sounded like... _the answer to my next question_.

"Did _you_ give me my dad's Invisibility Cloak for Christmas, Professor?"

Dumbledore didn't reply right away. Both of his silver eyebrows lifted first, and something undefinable flashed in his eyes. But then he smiled and the moment passed before Harry could try and parse what it meant. "I was not going to tell you... but yes, Harry, I am your anonymous benefactor. As I said in my note, your father James allowed me to borrow his Invisibility Cloak shortly before his unfortunate passing—and without access to a Potter blood relative that was of age, I had no way of returning it to your Gringotts vault as I had originally intended. Thus the poor thing sat and collected dust in my office for ten years, before inspiration struck this past Christmas Eve."

That was a lot to process—but it explained a lot too.

"Well... thank you," Harry murmured. He'd ducked his head, feeling oddly shy at this simple explanation for what (to him) had been an all-consuming mystery. "For making it a present, I mean. You didn't have to."

"No, but I thought you might enjoy it more that way." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled again. "I must say, I _did_ anticipate more mischief from you and your friends once the new term began. I did not expect your first exploits with it to be quite so academic."

"I guess I like to surprise people, sir."

"And aren't you good at it! My turn again: during these little nighttime stakeouts, did you ever stumble across something... unexpected? Mystical, or impossible? Something you felt you could not handle?"

_Hmm?_

Harry blinked a few times, but processing the words didn't make them any less mysterious. "What... what do you mean, sir? I don't _think_ I've found anything like that..."

"Then think no more of it," Dumbledore replied casually, waving one dismissive hand. "I was simply curious. Though I hope you know: if you _do_ find something like that, or if you encounter something dangerous, you are more than welcome to bring it to my attention at once. My office is on the seventh floor, situated rather neatly between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers."

"I... I'll do that, sir." _After I investigate it_ , he added silently. If there was an unexpected, mystical, _impossible_ thing in Hogwarts that he might not come across normally in the castle, he wanted himself and Terry and Padma to be the first to know about it.

"It is your turn again, Harry. Unless you have no further questions?"

"Just a couple more, please," Harry entreated, only relaxing when he got an indulgent nod. "If it's all right to ask... why weren't you going to tell me you were the one who gave me back my dad's cloak?"

This time it was Dumbledore who blinked perplexedly at him. "Well... I certainly didn't want you to feel as though you had to gift me with anything in return."

"But I..." _would have_ , Harry thought. He would have been _happy_ to. He'd gotten nice presents, _wonderful_ presents, from his Ravenclaw friends, his Gryffindor friends, some Slytherins, and even that nice Neville bloke from Hufflepuff—and had given them nice things in return. But there'd been something personal, _special_ about getting an item which had once belonged to his father. If Dumbledore had only signed his note, Harry might even now be sending out an owl order for whatever the headmaster wanted.

_Though... what kinds of things would someone like Professor Dumbledore even want? He probably gets everything he wishes for every year._

"It is kind of you, but not necessary," Dumbledore said gently, but so precisely that Harry wondered if the man could read minds. "I prefer gifts freely given. Though if you find you cannot resist the spirit of the season, I am partial to Honeydukes chocolate."

Harry logged the knowledge away in his mind, stubbornly; perhaps the man might resist, but Harry _wanted_ to give him a nice, thoughtful present. And the holiday break was the perfect time to do so. Maybe Dumbledore would be more receptive to the idea if he let a few days pass before bringing it up again.

"A lighter question this time. How are you enjoying Hogwarts, Harry?"

He perked up at once, all post-Christmas present plotting forgotten for the moment. "It's _fantastic_! I've never had so much fun—so many friends—and so many things to learn. Mysteries to solve. It's a hundred—a _thousand_ —times more interesting here than it is in Surrey."

"I am happy to hear that." That look showed up in the headmaster's eyes again—that undefinable light, as though he had gleaned deeper information from Harry's words than Harry ever intended—but once again, he did not share his thoughts, whatever they might be. Just smiled, and leaned back in his chair.

Harry decided that his next question would be his last; he'd learned more than enough tonight to puzzle over once he was alone.

"One last thing, sir..."

"Yes?"

"You said earlier... that you didn't need a Cloak like mine to become invisible, or to see other invisible people. But how are you able to become invisible without an invisibility cloak?"

" _Ah_." Dumbledore had looked either happy or intrigued with their conversation this whole time, but this was the first time Harry saw him look positively _impish_. "For the first time, Harry, we come to a question of yours that I do not feel inclined to answer... yet. There _is_ indeed a way that a witch or wizard may become nearly invisible without the need of a fine cloak like your father's, but it seems to me that just telling you the answer would be too dull. No, I would prefer to put your precocious mind to work on finding the solution yourself. Why don't you do a bit of research, ask a few questions, and surprise me by the end of June with the answer? I will try and reward you quite handsomely."

A thrill of excitement ran through Harry like a live wire. It was like a secret project: extra work from the headmaster himself, with the promise of a prize beyond his wildest dreams. The more rational part of him knew that the answer could probably be found in some simple textbook meant for the upper years, but Harry _liked_ learning new things about the magical world. It would be a treat in and of itself to find the spell, charm or means to become invisible without any extra clothing. Perhaps he might even be skilled enough to master it before the end of the year.

And maybe that was what Dumbledore secretly intended.

"I'd love to, sir! I won't let you down."

"Of course you won't. Now then—I believe it is well past time for you to run along to bed! Drafty air like this is no good for children _or_ old men. Up you get—"

Obediently Harry stood, and marveled at how quickly his comfortable chair disappeared once Dumbledore had waved his wand a third time. A lingering worry tickled at his mind as he watched the red chair vanish though. "Sir—what about your last question? It's four to three in my favor right now."

"So it is," Dumbledore agreed, "and though this may surprise you, I am quite content to leave that score as it is for the time being. I have no other burning questions for you, and I would feel quite wicked if I asked you something after denying you an answer. Put it out of your mind for now, won't you? I will try to come up with a satisfying query later."

"All right."

"And Harry? I realize this may sound absurd, after admitting to giving you such a useful tool to become unseen—but _do_ try to keep out of trouble the rest of this holiday, please. Although I am prevented from taking points at present, there will be no such restriction in the new year once term has begun."

For the first time in a while, Harry's face burned. The phrase _be careful what you wish for_ danced in his head: he had wanted very badly to know the identity of his gifter, and now he knew that person's name and their ability to see him at all times. _And_ take points if they caught him breaking the rules. "Erm... yes, sir."

He was going to have to be _really_ careful now. There was no way his stratagems for outwitting Filch or the student prefects would work on the headmaster of Hogwarts. He'd have to spend some of the holiday coming up with a new one.

 _So much for not having any homework over the break. One night out and I've got_ two _new projects!_

Dumbledore gave him a small smile as he turned to go. "Good night, Harry. It was a pleasure to meet you properly."

"You too, Professor... and thank you for answering my questions."

"No need for gratitude. It was rather refreshing, being grilled by a first-year. Most students your age would sooner swallow their tongues than ask me how or why I was doing something."

And with that they parted. At Dumbledore's encouraging gesture, Harry slipped his father's Cloak back over his head so he could make it back to Ravenclaw Tower without being accosted by any of the other people who were actually _allowed_ out in the evenings. He set off with only the briefest glance back—the headmaster was already heading upstairs via another staircase, his long silver hair gleaming behind him like some kind of mystical creature's tail. The idea made him grin.

Then he was at the eagle knocker, visible again.

 _"Which Runespoor head is the most dangerous?"_ it asked smoothly, making no mention of the hour.

"All three, unless you've got the antivenin handy," Harry answered cheerfully.

 _"Quite reasonable,"_ the eagle decided, and let him through to his familiar world of blue and bronze. 

Harry took a little longer to get to sleep once he'd snuck up the stairs to his dormitory and gotten nearly-soundlessly behind his bedcurtains. But once he was there the events of the long, exciting evening caught up to him and (even in his dreams) had him giddy with excitement to see tomorrow. One mystery solved, and many more to go. Plenty of time to solve them in too. And the promise of surprise and approval from the most brilliant and powerful wizard in the world at the end of it.

It was official: he _loved_ being a wizard.

 _I can't wait to tell the others_.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I've aged Cedric Diggory up a year here. According to the HP Wiki, he was actually seventeen years old and competing in the Triwizard Tournament in his _sixth_ year... but the wiki has been drastically wrong before. I chose to ignore it.
> 
> I also had a lot of students stay at the castle for Christmas. I mean... I _guess_ some people would want to go home for break in a magical world where Hogwarts is just one school of many. But I wouldn't.
> 
> Ah. And regarding Dumbledore's query about Harry stumbling across "something [he] felt he could not handle"... yes, he is referring to the Mirror of Erised here. I included this as a nod to my theory that canon Harry is being very self-centered at the end of SS/PS, and Dumbledore did _not_ in fact intend for Harry or any student to come across the Voldemort-specific traps in the third floor corridor.
> 
> Of course since Harry, Ron and Hermione got through the mess of tests all right, _Harry_ thinks that the clever headmaster with all the answers must have set things up for him to do so all along to 'prove' he could face Voldemort... except that would require Dumbledore to assume that a young, impressionable orphan boy wouldn't come across a dangerous magical mirror in an unused room and starve to death in front of it, staring longingly at the parents he never knew for all eternity.
> 
> (In fact, I read a fic on FFN recently where that very thing happened, and it was dark and excellent. Thanks to lavleo3 for finding it! I have now added that fic as inspiration for this one. Please check out 'Erised' by losthpfanficwriter if you would like to shiver and wonder what might have been.)
> 
> It seems far more likely to me that once he began to suspect Quirrell was more than he appeared, Dumbledore dreamed up the Mirror as a quick endgame solution that would confound and frustrate Voldemort until he could be detained... but then Harry discovered the Mirror over Christmas, forcing Dumbledore to juggle the growing likelihood that Harry would interfere with his plan and require rescuing.
> 
> So here in this AU, Dumbledore attempts to determine whether Harry has already come across the Mirror without outright saying what it is or what it does... only to pique Harry's interest and set The Mirror Discovery in motion by accident anyway. Oops.
> 
> Oh, yeah: and in case you were wondering, yes. The words "invisible" and "invisibility" _have_ lost all meaning for me now.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
